The Long Way Home
by TheNewIdea
Summary: Some scars take you places, places that you don't even want to go and sometimes they leave it up to you to find your way back home. Rated M for tragedy, language, angst, family drama, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, issues involving religion and questions of faith (particularly Christianity).
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Interstate 295 is a real interstate in Rhode Island. September 19th is Adam West's birthday.

Also side note, this is not a happy story, this is also not going to be an easy story to read, for the issues that are portrayed in it are hard topics and for some are very difficult to talk about. Still, talk about it we must.

* * *

Ten minutes outside of Quahog, Rhode Island is the beginning of Adam West Interstate 295, named after Quahog's mayor Adam West, a questionable man with strange and often times unrealistic ambitions, like naming the small stretch of highway, the area around Quahog and the small suburbia around it, after himself and declaring September 19th Adam West Day. On this road is a bridge with a small barricade made of iron bars, more for beauty and fashion than function. Underneath this bridge is a sheer 50 foot drop down to a raging river that eventually lead into the Atlantic, a death sentence.

Peter and Lois were driving into town, having recently returned from a much needed and much anticipated vacation in upstate Pennsylvania. The open air, country backwoods noise and no kids made for a prefect three days in paradise. The simple but luxurious cabin, as well as plentiful wildlife and a spectacular lake view made for three days in Heaven.

"That was lovely Peter" Lois said dreamily as she rested her head on her husband's shoulder, "We should do stuff like that more often. Just us, away from the kids, away from the city."

Peter nodded in partial agreement, for it would be nice to do things outside of kids and work, but he knew that the chances of that were nonexistent. The brewery wasn't paying like it used to, forcing Peter into a second job as a mail clerk at the local mall, which paid even less than the job at the brewery. The Pawtucket Company was doing some downsizing as well as outsourcing the majority of the plant jobs to overseas markets, meaning that hundreds of workers were going to be cut, most without pension and without anything in the way of benefits. Everyone was scared, for the plant supplied 75% of Quahog's workforce, if the outsourcing occurred, Quahog would slip below the average unemployment rate for the first time in thirty years.

"You know we really should think about moving" Peter said, thinking aloud, "Quahog isn't exactly the best place for anybody right now."

Lois sighed and shook her head in disagreement.

"I know that you're worried about the plant" Lois continued, "But we can't just pack up and leave. What about the kids? Their lives are at Quahog, its where they were born, where their friends are…"

"Don't you think I know that?" Peter replied, butting in, "What else are we going to do? If the plant outsources it'll close, if the plant closes than people will lose their jobs and when people lose their jobs they don't get money and when people don't have money bad things happen."

Peter sighed and shook his head in disbelief, the past few days becoming nothing more than a distant memory as the world and its problems reared its ugly head.

"Things are going to be different around here" Peter continued, "And I don't think they're going to be for the better."

Lois shook her head, slowly bringing her hand to Peter's mouth.

"Enough Peter" Lois said as she sat up normally in her seat, pulling her hair out from behind the confines of the seat-belt, letting it fall freely wherever it chose, "We only have a few minutes of vacation left, let's make them count."

Peter raised his eyebrows curiously, for he had no idea what she was talking about. Lois reached over, her hand over Peter's zipper and slowly began to undo it.

"While I'm driving?" Peter asked, "Are you serious right now?"

Lois nodded, "Come on Peter" she exclaimed playfully pouting, "Let's have a little fun. You just concentrate on driving and I'll do the rest."

Peter rolled his eyes and nodded in compliance. Lois began her work just as the car reached the bridge. At the same time, on the other side of the river, a blue Ford four pickup was making its way across. The driver was a father of three, a Mr. Vincent Venitti, next to him was his wife, Josephine, in the back seat were the aforementioned kids, two boys, Marcus and adopted brother Jacques, and a girl, Florence, all of them were ten years old and just about to enter the fifth grade. The pickup's radio was playing their favorite song, _Semi-Charmed Life_ by Third Eye Blind.

Vincent wasn't the kind of man who generally listened to bands like Third Eye Blind-that was more Josephine, Marcus and Florence's type of music, but that didn't mean that Vincent and Jacques, who almost exclusively listened to Yves Montand and American counterparts like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Nat King Cole, didn't enjoy Third Eye Blind, in fact they preferred it, it made them feel as if they belonged, that they were where they were supposed to be.

Peter closed his eyes, allowing himself a few seconds to let himself go. Lois casually glanced up and had half a mind to stop when she saw the car veering to the left oncoming lane. But only half a mind, her confidence in Peter's driving ability at the moment, was that of a steel bear trap.

"Peter" Lois said nervously, "I'm going to stop if you can't focus. Now open your eyes."

Peter nodded and slowly opened his eyes, Lois had already turned back to working him at this point and didn't realize that Peter's nod was pre-grip on the steering wheel.

The Venitti's meanwhile, were in the middle of an innocent dance party. Josephine, Marcus and Florence going all out as if they were on a dance floor, Jacques and Vincent merely listening to the music, bobbing their heads and otherwise lost in their own worlds, one concentrated on driving, the other on the flight patterns of birds.

It wasn't until Peter was well into the left lane did he fully open his eyes. Excepting the bridge to be empty, and out of fear of a crash Peter's first reaction was to scream as loudly as possible. Lois immediately looked up and, upon seeing that they had become British for a few seconds, grabbed hold of the wheel and turned as hard as she could in the opposite direction.

The world became silent. Time nonexistent.

The Venitti's truck barely missed the Griffin's sedan, only managing to clip it. The clip was enough to send the sedan back into the right lane uncontrollably, going top speed for Peter's foot was planted to the floor as he succumbed to a heart attack, his head slumping into his chest just as Lois lost her grip, sending the car through the barricade and down into the river.

Police, fire and paramedics were on the scene in five minutes. The car found head first in shallow water, for the river was at low tide that particular day, bringing chances of survival down into mere decimals. As the Venitti's were being questioned while the car was being pulled out of the river, a white Prius pulled up to the scene.

"What the hell is going on here?" the driver, Brian Griffin, asked curiously, getting no response or straight answer.

Joe Swanson, one of the first officers on the scene and Peter's neighbor, at hearing Brian's voice stopped doing analytical work for the time being and turned towards Brian with sad and tearful eyes.

"Brian" Joe began, his voice cracking and barely audible, "Don't-don't hate the Venittis, they're good people."

Brian shook his head in confusion, for he had no idea who the Venittis were or what Joe was even talking about. The only thing Brian knew was that something had happened to Peter and Lois and it wasn't good.

Joe gestured towards the family and sighed, wishing that he had just stayed home for the day.

"What's going on Joe?" Brian asked once again, fear entering his voice, "What happened here?"

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Sitting in a cubicle in the office of the Pawtucket Brewery, Brian, who had decided to get a real job in a vain effort to keep the family together, was punching numbers and working on the newest advertising campaign when the phone at his desk decided that it would be a good time to ring. Looking at the caller ID and finding it to be James Woods high school, Brian rolled his eyes and silently cursed to himself.

"Please tell me that Chris didn't set fire to school again" Brian said immediately, knowing full well that it was Principal Shepard on the other line.

"He set off the fire alarm and almost killed Connie D'Amico with a fire extinguisher" Shepard answered promptly, cutting to the chase.

Brian nodded and began rummaging through his drawer, searching for his keys and a piece of paper.

"He's been rather rebellious since the incident" Shepard continued, "Dressing in black, cutting class, heinous vandalism…"

Brian shook his head annoyingly.

"That sounds like a you problem Principal Shepard" Brian replied quickly, for this was the last thing that he needed to be dealing with.

"The boy is getting out of control" Shepard exclaimed, getting back on track, "This recklessness cannot continue. He's destructive, disrespectful, arrogant, and worst of all he's actually getting stupider. If this keeps up I'm going to have to take legal action."

Brian growled, for now he was going to have to go down to the school and deal with the situation himself, something that he had neither the time, the experience, nor the patience for. Hanging up the phone Brian grabbed his keys and the coat that was draped over his chair. Standing from his desk Brian made his way towards the door. No sooner did he rise did Angela, his boss and manager of the brewery, enter the room. Walking down the aisle, her head held high as if she owned the very people trapped in their desks, Angela had the air of someone who desired two things- power and money, and the will to do anything to get those things, whether through bribery, blackmail, sex, or promotion. In her hands was a large file of meaningless paperwork that she couldn't be bothered with, as she passed Brian, she threw the file into his hands and without even so much as stopping or even looking at him, gave him an order.

"Have that done by tomorrow" Angela said coldly, "First thing."

Brian opened the folder and was dismayed to discover that it was more financial and insurance paperwork, the other side of the brewery business. He already had to take work home with him three times in the past week, all of those being late nights with his best friend in getting through difficult tasks, Jack Daniels, and he wasn't about to let tonight be another repeat.

"Can't you get George or Mike to take care of this?" Brian asked, somewhat desperately, "My dogs are barking here Angela I can't be taking work home with me every night. Besides I've got…"

Angela didn't even hear him, for she was already on the other side of the room, completely oblivious to his presence. Brian, seeing no other option, placed the file under his armpit and headed out towards his car, thinking of what his night was going to be like. In five seconds he had an answer, living hell.

The office was crowded, not because Shepard was popular among the students or because everyone collectively decided to get detention at the same time but because Chris Griffin, dressed in a black wife beater, torn jeans and biker boots, with eye shadow around his eyes, his hair frizzled and mopped and spiked jewelry around his neck and wrists was sitting in a chair casually and without shame rolling a joint as if there were no repercussions whatsoever.

Brian pushed himself through the crowd, the file from work still in his hands, his tie wrapped carelessly around his neck and his fur otherwise frizzled, much like Chris' hair. In his eyes was anger, disappointment and fury unseen, so angry was Brian felt like choking the life out of Chris, but then again the spiked necklace he was wearing was already doing half the job to begin with.

"How many times are we going to have to do this Chris?" Brian said, making sure to get directly in his face, "This makes it what…the fourth? Fifth?"

"Sixth" Chris declared, "Sixth going on seventh."

Brian shook his head in disagreement as he slowly began to pace. The crowd of curious students and faculty becoming tighter, as if they were in an ever shrinking box.

"No Chris" Brian continued, "Not sixth going on seventh. Not ever again, do you understand me? You can't keep doing this Chris, you can't keep dragging me away from work to come and bail you out of school just because you can't behave. Next time it won't be school, it'll be jail. I don't think I can go through with that and I know damn well that the last thing your parents would want for you is for you to spend the rest of your life behind damn bars just because you decided to fuck around!"

Chris rolled his eyes in indifference and put the joint in his mouth only for Brian to smack it out of his hands.

"What the hell was that for?" Chris exclaimed as he stood up, "That was mine!"

"Was it?" Brian pressed, "Because I specifically remember a small bag full of green stuff that had my name on it the other day under the bed. It's missing. So technically speaking, that's my joint and my weed."

Brian pulled out his medical card deeming the marijuana legal, at the same time pointing to his right eye, which was slowly becoming cloudy.

"Do you want me to go blind Chris?" Brian continued, "Is that it? Because if so you're doing a hell of a job!"

Chris huffed, "That's what they all say- 'I need it for medical reasons, its okay I have a medical card' Grow up Brian!"

Brian huffed and shook his head in complete disbelief, amazed at himself that he let the situation go from Chris' destruction of property, endangerment of others and attempted murder to a mere marijuana possession issue, which paled in comparison.

"You set off the fire alarm" Brian said, stepping on Chris' foot as hard as he could, causing Chris to wince in pain and take his seat once more.

"You almost killed a girl with a fire extinguisher!"

Chris laughed, "The bitch had it coming" he mumbled to himself.

Brian slapped Chris in the face as hard as he allowed.

"What was that?" Brian asked, pressing for information as he leaned in.

Chris spat in Brian's face and smiled, he might as well have been saying fuck you as far as Brian was concerned. Wiping his face, Brian picked up Chris by the collar of his shirt and raised his fist. Everything was telling him to throw the punch, literally everything- his body, the crowd, even Chris, not with words but with the simple power of silence and stares. Brian lowered his hand and let go of Chris' shirt. He looked around the crowd and barked extensively, clearing the room in five seconds out of sheer fear, despite the fact that they knew Brian wouldn't hurt a soul without good reason.

Chris huffed and walked out of the room, Brian did nothing to stop him, for there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, that would make this okay. Shepard appeared from his office in the back of the room and placed his hand firmly on the dog's shoulder, causing Brian to pull away.

"I'm sorry" Shepard said, trying to be as calming as possible, "You don't deserve this."

Brian hung his head in shame and tried his best not to cry, he was failing.

"I don't know what this is Shepard" Brian replied, "But that's not Chris. He's not the boy I knew, not anymore. And do you know what the worst part is?"

Shepard recognized this as a rhetorical question and didn't answer. Brian wasn't expecting one and continued without hesitation.

"The worst part is that I might never get him back."

Shepard said nothing, deciding to leave Brian alone. Stopping at his door Shepard turned around, giving Brian one final word.

"If it happens again" Shepard warned, "I'm pressing charges."

"Don't bother" Brian replied sadly, "I'll press them myself."

With that Brian headed out of the office, coat and file in hand. He decided that the ride home would be spent in complete and total silence, for there was nothing to talk about that wasn't overly depressing. Turning on the ignition and driving out of the parking lot, Brian turned on the radio just as _Semi-Charmed Life _played its final notes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Do not go straight to the bottom for there is a spoiler there. Read from the top. Also, this chapters involves religion.

* * *

Vincent Venitti walked into church that Wednesday evening feeling good about himself, proud that he was there for a reason and not because he had missed the Sunday service before. He wasn't even there because of the Wednesday service. In fact, the only reason he came into the building at all was hear the music and the music minister.

The sanctuary was still, for the most part, empty, for not many people of Quahog were what one would consider devout. The only reason people came to church on Sunday was out of fear that God would smite them down with bolts of lightning if they didn't. The only reason they on Wednesday was to make themselves feel better about themselves, like they were good people. And that if they weren't good people God would smite them down with bolts of lightning and then set them on fire. So it was not out of a love of God these people were gathered, but out a fear of Him.

The music minister was sitting on stage, his legs hanging over the edge and swaying side to side in rhythm with the guitar that he was casually strumming. Around his neck was one of those white things that pastors, preachers, and the occasional judge would wear with a black robe, almost as if it were part of a tuxedo suit of some kind. The minister wasn't wearing anything else in terms of clothes, he didn't need them, mostly because he wasn't exactly human, more on the lines of four legs, furry and man's best friend. In other words, he was a dog.

Vincent took a seat near the minister, in order to hear him better. The five people that were in attendance- Mr. Herbert, Tom Tucker, Cleveland Brown, his son Junior, and Babs Pewterschmidt, were also nearby, treating it more like a seminar or perhaps a study group than a worship service, which for all purposes, it had essentially become given the lack of audience members.

"When we sing" the minister began, "We are letting others know our deepest thoughts, our innermost feelings and desires. Our fears. When we sing we express emotions in ways we cannot do otherwise, ways that are too difficult in normal speech or writing. It is one of the indicators that we know we are alive, that we are human. That God exists."

Vincent raised his hand, acting as if he were in a classroom, a mere student, and the minister the teacher.

"How can you say we are human when you yourself are a dog?" Vincent asked, mostly out of curiosity instead of rudeness.

The minister laughed and shook his head, for the question itself was irrelevant. In his mind what made someone human was in the details- how a person thinks, how a person feels, what a person does. It had to do with the soul.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything" the minister replied, "If you're talking species then yes, I am very much a dog. But I do not act like a dog. I walk and talk and eat just like the rest of you. Does that make me human? Some would say yes. Others not. I think and feel and express emotions like the rest of you, have complex ideas. Does that make me human? Again, some would say yes, others no."

Vincent kept his hand raised for that didn't exactly answer the question, the minister carefully avoiding the main issue in order to include everyone else.

"What do you think?" Vincent pressed, "Do you think you're human?"

The minister shrugged and looked up towards the ceiling, his eyes contemplative and questioning. He laughed, it was the kind of laugh that was welcoming, it was hard, as if it were sarcastic, but it wasn't soft either, still maintaining an air of seriousness. It was happy but not excited, sad but not depressed.

"I can't tell you how many times I've asked myself that same damn question" the minister replied, still laughing, "And every time I've come up with the same damn answer. It doesn't matter what I am. It's who I am. Who I am to you, to other people, to me. But most importantly, who I am to God. I am a minister of music. I preach, I pray and I play guitar."

The minister looked around and adjusted his collar, he then began to strum the first few notes of a song the church added to the line-up. He did not sing, he only played, letting the music do what it would for those who listened.

In the audience, three rows back from the minister, was Meg Griffin. She was wearing a simple red shirt and jeans, her shoes were untied, the strings hanging down from the pew as she sat with her knees up, hiding her face from the audience and subsequently, the world. Meg's hair was kept in a ponytail that wrapped around the front that would have brought out her eyes if she ever let anyone look at her long enough. Next to her was a heavily used notepad and a Sharpie.

Meg had been listening to the music and the minister's singing for a long time. She didn't know when she got there, for her phone was dead, she wasn't wearing a watch and there wasn't a clock, digital or hand, to be found. She didn't really care, she had little reason to care about anything, especially time.

The music minister eventually saw the crumbled up figure that was Meg and upon seeing her gave a gentle smile.

"Look what we have here" the minister said, bringing the attention of the small audience with him, "Another lost sheep has found the flock."

Mr. Herbert, one of the audience members, turned towards Meg and recognized her immediately as Chris' brother. He didn't say anything, only giving the small smile and nod of approval that was befitting the situation, deciding to let the minister do his work.

Jumping down from the stage, guitar in hand, the minister carefully made his way next to Meg.

"Hey" the minister exclaimed warmly, "What's your name?"

Meg slowly looked to her left, saw the minister and without even speaking a word, turned away. The minister drooped his ears and whined, for a moment becoming the dog he was in an attempt to humor her, it didn't work for she didn't see it and even if she did she wouldn't have cared.

"It's alright" the minister continued encouragingly, "We're all friends and equals here-"

The minister looked around the audience, as if he were putting on a performance and not speaking directly to Meg.

"Isn't that right folks?"

The audience nodded and clapped and shouted Amen in agreement. Only after this did the minister fully focus on Meg.

"How about this?" the minister began again, trying a different approach, "I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours. Deal?"

Meg groaned. Grabbing the notepad and the Sharpie she heavily wrote her name in bold, scraggly capital letters, handing it to the minister to read.

At seeing Meg's name the minister began to understand, even though in reality he didn't. Setting the guitar down the minister closed his eyes as he got down on all fours and began to pray silently to himself. He asked for forgiveness and for blessing and the usual stuff that people ask God for, but he also asked permission to be what he already was to society. He asked to cast down his position for a few moments in favor of becoming a dog, something that he knew was inferior in His eyes, in order to serve a greater purpose, a healing purpose. He pleaded to be spared indignity, shame and guilt. Finally, the minister prayed for Meg, asking that she allow Him back into her life if she knew Him before and also to allow him into her life, that he might be able to help. Some of this He granted, some of this He withheld.

After the prayer the minister opened his eyes and casually jumped on the pew, scooting Meg over a bit in the process. Resting on his haunches, the minister placed his paw, for now he was a dog, on Meg's shoulder, begging that Meg look into his eyes.

"Do you know any songs?" the minister asked softly, "Any at all, they don't have to be spiritual."

Meg nodded but said nothing. The minister hung his head and sighed, looking at the pad and Sharpie on the floor.

"You are safe Meg" the minister replied as he rubbed his head against her side, common among canine behavior, "You are loved, you are safe and you are home."

Still Meg said nothing, keeping her silence and general indifference, her posture remaining the same as if the only thing she were seeking was an escape from the world and everyone in it. The minister, seeing that there was little to be done, did the only thing he could do. He started singing. The song wasn't spiritual and didn't talk about God, for he knew that that was not what was needed. What was needed was something else, something that would speak to Meg in some way. He chose _Your Song_ by Elton John. As the words echoed across the room, the audience slowly joined in, at first singing for the sake of singing and then singing to Meg. One unit with a simple and clear mission, to bring Meg Griffin back from the land of the dead and into the living.

When the song was over, people began to leave, Meg was the first one out, quick and hurried to get to wherever she was going, forgetting the notepad and the Sharpie. Eventually it was just the minister and Venitti.

"What are you thinking?" Vincent asked as he stood up to stretch.

"What do you mean?" the minister replied

"You got that look" Vincent pointed out, "Whenever you're about to do something you get a certain glimmer in your eyes. It's a dead giveaway."

The minister smiled and shrugged, for he had been caught.

"I'm going to help that girl Venitti" the minister exclaimed, "She's been through a lot, losing her parents like that and then her brother with the way he is. It just ain't fair."

Vincent nodded, he was going to say that life wasn't fair and that sometimes curve balls happen to you, but he didn't find it appropriate for the situation or for the minister, who was held in too high respect and regard for such things.

"How?" Vincent asked, "You can't just go to her house and talk to her? That's creepy."

"Only if you do it the wrong way" the minister said with a small laugh, "She's got to come out of that shell of hers sometime. God-willing, I'll be the one to help her out of it."

Vincent still had doubts, for he knew of the minister's history with problematic and troubled humans and how sometimes things didn't go according to plan.

"You sure about this?" Vincent continued, "I mean you have a pretty bad track record with these things. Remember the Klansman Incident?"

The minister huffed as if he were insulted and folded his arms decisively.

"Sure I'm sure" the dog continued, "Besides I have a 100% track record in getting out of stressful situations. That girl needs to be reminded of the world, she's not going to come back without a little help. Whatever we can do we need to do, not just because we're church-goers or believers but because we're good people who care about those in our community."

Vincent shook his head in disbelief, as he walked out.

"I hope you know what you're doing Vinny" Vincent declared, "That family's got real issues now."

"You would know all about that wouldn't you?" Vinny replied sadly, remembering the accident and what details the news gave, "How bad was it? As horrible as they said?"

Vincent shuddered at the thought, still he found it disrespectful to simply ignore the question.

"Worse" Vincent answered, "Much worse. There are some things you just can't unsee and that's one of 'em."

Vinny hung his head and gently made the sign of the cross, falling silent for a moment in reverence.

"Be home by ten" Vincent continued as he walked out, "I've got to take you to the vet tomorrow, get your shots."

Vinny cringed at the thought of shots even though he knew they were necessary. Still, he found a reason to laugh, for the thought of a curfew was hilarious.

"Sure thing Pop" Vinny exclaimed jokingly as he undid his collar and stepped out of the sanctuary following close behind, "I'll be home by eleven, in bed by eleven thirty and asleep before you can even say goodnight."

Walking out of the church Vincent and Vinny parted ways, each of them heading to their respective cars. As he reached the driver side of his used Saturn Vinny looked around and casually sniffed the air to see if he could find Meg. He got nothing. Sighing and silently praying to himself once again, Vinny got into his car and after much thought and consideration, made his way to the Drunken Clam.

* * *

**Author's Note 2**: Some of you may be wondering why I chose Vinny as the minister or why Meg is the way she is. I ask that you stay with me, for this story has been planned out from the very beginning, following a basic outline. In short, at the end of this everything has a purpose and makes sense. But I'll let you be the judge of that.


	3. Chapter 3

Meg walked through the front door to an all too familiar scene. Brian and Chris arguing. Usually Brian would argue about Chris' behavior in school and his various drug addictions, Chris meanwhile, would chastise Brian, calling him a hypocrite and a poor substitute for Peter and Lois. Nine times out of ten this resulted in more shouting and if it went on for long enough, physical violence. More than once Joe had to be called to the house for domestic disturbances and more than once he had gone easy on Brian, for Chris was still a minor and couldn't technically be charged, by not reporting and simply letting it off with a warning. Tonight however, was different even among all those other times.

Tonight was different for many reasons, but perhaps the most important reason was that it was Lois' birthday. Hung across the kitchen entryway was a white banner that read Happy Birthday in big bright letters. Streamers were hung throughout the living room, for no particular reason other than to make it feel like a party instead of a mourning. On the kitchen table, which could easily be seen from the living room, was a two layered birthday cake with the numbered candles 4 and 2.

Trudging past the couch and ignoring the screaming, Meg tried to block out the noise as best she could, not wanting to go up into her room in an attempt to be somewhat sociable. As the argument escalated, Brian and Chris brought out the teeth and claws, in Brian's case he actually did.

"Stop acting like him!" Chris yelled, standing by the TV trying to stay as far away from Brian as possible, who was sitting on the leftmost cushion on the couch, Peter's usual spot.

"When are you going to get it through your head?" Brian declared, "I'm only trying to do what's best for you Chris. That's all."

Chris shook his head annoyingly, for that was the same thing that he always said in these arguments, it was as if Brian had a script memorized in his head.

"Your best isn't good enough!" Chris continued, his emotions getting the better of him as the longer he looked at Brian, "They're gone Brian, my dad is dead…my mom is dead…this family is dead."

Brian sighed and jumped on the couch, retaining his demeanor. He had no wish to get into a confrontation tonight, especially when Meg was around, who he knew wasn't exactly taking things well either.

"I'm leaving Brian" Chris said finally as he made his across the room heading upstairs, "You follow me and I'll kill you."

Chris pulled back his shirt, revealing a gun, Brian's gun, to show that he wasn't bluffing. Brian said nothing and simply stared, letting Chris have his way for the moment. The sound of the front door closing echoed throughout the room, causing Brian to jump, after which he immediately cried.

Meg said nothing. Only looking on, confused as to what was happening. Normally the fights ended with bloody noses or harsh words. It almost never ended this way, so abrupt and final. Meg listened to Brian's tears and could only feel pity, for he tried so hard, perhaps too hard, to keep whatever this was together. In Meg's mind it wasn't a family, just a bunch living together who know a lot about each other. Still despite this, Meg understood, or at least, thought she did. Standing up and making her way to the couch, Meg gave out a long sigh and wrapped her arm around Brian in a loving embrace, saying nothing.

"Thanks Meg" Brian said whispering, "I don't know what I would without you now."

Meg shrugged, for she could think of a few things Brian could do without her, many of those things involved women, but Meg knew the context that Brian was speaking of and knew that he had spoken the truth.

"Talk to me Meg" Brian said, begging to be heard, "Tell me that everything's going to be okay."

Meg said nothing.

Stewie came down from his room. He had been up there for the better part of the night, mostly because Brian told him to stay there until it was safe, until the fighting stopped. In his right hand he was holding Rupert, in his left the return pad to the time machine. Brian, upon seeing Stewie, smiled and gestured for the empty cushion next to Meg, which he took without question. Picking up the remote, Stewie turned on the TV and upon seeing Tom Tucker for the 100th time that day, changed the channel to ESPN.

"I saw Dad again today" Stewie exclaimed, trying to start conversation, "He brought an ostrich home, and Mom was yelling at him wondering why…I can't remember if he gave an answer or not, but I bet it would've been funny."

Dead silence. A pin drop could have been heard from the outside porch, for the TV's volume was muted and provided no sound, only images of football and the occasional sports commentator. Brian and Meg's eyes were locked squarely in front of them, for a moment too lost in themselves.

In a strange way, they envied Stewie, his innocence in large part, protecting him from the world despite everything he knew about it. Stewie didn't exactly know where people went when they died, for Brian, as well as countless of other people, have given him different answers and different things to believe. As a consequence Stewie took no particular side on the issue. Stewie did know however, that Peter and Lois were never coming back.

"Meg" Stewie began again after a short period of silence, "How did we do today? Did you talk to anyone, about anything?"

Meg let go of Brian and shook her head, smiling as she did so. It was the first time she smiled all day, causing Stewie to copy her and smile back.

"Brian look!" Stewie declared, catching the dog's attention, "She's smiling again!"

Brian immediately turned to Meg, already the smile wiped off her face, hating the fact that a simple smile was made into an occasion, like it was a rare occurrence. In truth it was, especially these days, but that didn't mean it had to act like it was.

With her shoulders drooped and looking defeated, like she had just been told she couldn't do something, Meg turned around and made her way upstairs. Brian looked after her.

"Wait!" he called, causing Meg to stop for a moment as her foot hit the third stair and turn around.

"I love you Meg" Brian declared, "You know that right?"

Meg nodded and continued up the stairs, saying nothing. Brian sat back down in his place on the couch and stared at the muted TV with Stewie, who gently began petting his back telling him that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Meg sat on her bed, trying not to think about anything. Emptying out her pockets Meg pulled out her cell phone, her wallet, and a neatly folded picture of Lois, her most prized possession. The picture was simple, Lois' hair was done up, she was wearing a blue button up shirt and khaki pants, a nice change from the regular green one she wore almost every day. The backdrop was of the Quahog pier, a small fishing boat could be seen in the water below, just coming in for the day. Lois' left hand was on her hip, her right was grasping the wooden railing she was leaning against. Her smile was white, for Lois always made it a point to keep good hygiene. Her lips were without lipstick, a light pink color and her face without makeup, some pores could be seen if you looked close enough.

Meg smiled, she didn't say anything, even if she wanted to speak there were no words to say. Leaning over, Meg reached for her dresser and pulled out her journal, in which she began to write.

_October 14th_

_Went to church again, I don't know why. I keep telling myself that I'm going to make friends and find meaning, but I'm not. Like everyone else in this stupid town I only go to pretend and even that's getting more and more difficult. It was especially hard today, it being Mom's birthday and everything, I miss her so much, there are so many things we didn't do and now, there is no time left to do them._

_Stewie uses the time machine constantly now. He keeps going back and going back, but never to the day they died. I guess it's his way of preserving memories, or maybe quality time with Dad. He offers to take us back every now and again. Brian went back once to see about playing fetch with Peter one last time. Chris went back, but it was only to steal drugs, he didn't even try to see them, he didn't care._

_But all of that, the time travel, its just wishful thinking. Wishful thinking and __wishing in general, is pointless, for there are too many people out there making wishes and only so few who grant them. There are no dragons to slay, princesses to rescue to be, knights in shining armor. Those things are fairy tales meant for the young and ignorant._

_This world is full of pain, suffering and despair. But it is also full of kindness and goodness unseen and unheard of. That's what the minister said. That there are people in the world willing to stand up and fight for things that we already rightfully have and have justly earned just for being alive._

_But if we already earned it and it's rightfully ours, why do we have to fight for it? But that's the question isn't it? The world in a nutshell._

Closing the journal, Meg set it back on the bedside and laid down, trying her best to get what sleep she could.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Brian found himself sleeping on the couch for what would have been the fourth month. Since the accident the dog could not bring himself to sleep in Peter and Lois' room, let alone in the bed, which remained as it was, sheets neatly folded and pillows fluffed, smelling of lemon scented Lysol and vanilla candles.

A knock on the door caused him to wake up. Wiping the sleep from his eyes and looking out the living room window at the same time, he was dismayed to find that the sun had not yet come out over the horizon and so rationalized that it was early morning, looking at the alarm clock he had set up he read the time-5:30. Begrudging Meg and Stewie for getting more sleep, Brian groggily made his way to the door.

Opening the door Brian was surprised to find Quagmire standing on the front porch. His eyes were bloodshot red, his facial hair was uncharacteristically long and he wasn't wearing any shoes. Quagmire was shaking uncontrollably, he looked extremely cold and wet, as if he had jumped off the pier for an early morning swim. Brian didn't even have to question himself or even so much as say anything, for in a way he didn't want to know. Stepping aside, Brian allowed Quagmire to come in.

Pulling out a thick blanket from the hallway closet, Brian bade Quagmire sit down and make himself comfortable. As Quagmire wrapped the blanket around his body, Brian headed for the kitchen and began making coffee.

"Hope you like it black" Brian said, his voice echoing a bit as it went through the kitchen and into the living room, "We're out of sugar and cream."

Quagmire let out a moaning sound, his only response at the moment, and stared at the TV saying nothing. As he tried his best to stay warm, he thought about the reason he was over there to begin with. Looking down at his feet, at the small travel pillow at the head of the couch, the medium sized alarm clock and the thin blanket tossed carelessly to the floor, Quagmire felt guilty, for technically speaking, he was sitting on Brian's bed, preventing him from further sleep.

"What time do you work?" Quagmire asked as Brian reappeared, a single cup of black coffee in his hand.

Brian shook his head.

"I'm not going in today" he replied, handing the cup to Quagmire, who upon taking it, drank without question, "There's just too much going on right now, with Chris out who knows where and Meg and Stewie like they are."

Brian trailed off. He wanted to continue but couldn't find the words. Quagmire said nothing and tried to the best of his ability to bring up the situation.

"It got pretty bad last night huh?" Quagmire began, "I heard the fighting. The yelling. Saw Chris storm out, he was heading for the Clam."

"I'm glad you didn't try and stop him" Brian replied, "He probably would have shot you, then where would you be?"

Quagmire let out an uncomfortable laugh, for it was nice for Brian to show concern, sincere concern. If you would have told Quagmire six months ago that he would be sitting with Brian having coffee at 6 am he probably would've cussed you out and laughed in your face. Now however, it was normal, almost natural.

"I came here" Quagmire began once again, after a short silence, "Because-"

Brian shook his head, cutting him off. He didn't want to know and he didn't care why Quagmire was there. He was glad to have company, to have someone to listen, to understand, to share in both grief and joy, sadness and laughter.

The Monday after the accident Brian was already dealing with insurance papers and death certificates. He barely had time to grieve before the newshounds, particularly Tom Tucker, came barging in and knocking his door, asking questions he couldn't and wouldn't answer.

"What's going to happen to the children?" Tom asked as he shoved a microphone in Brian's face, "Will they live with other family?"

Brian shook his head and rolled his eyes before giving the answer that he had given countless of times before to twenty different news people, for not much happened in Quahog that was technically newsworthy and tragedy always seemed to sell, especially when the circumstances were unique enough, in the case of Peter and Lois.

"The will states that until Chris, Meg and Stewie come of age they will live with the closest available relative" Brian answered hoarsely, for he had been doing a lot of talking.

Tom nodded, "So Carter Pewterschmidt?" he continued, more for the sake of clarity than anything else.

"Peter had Carter written out the custody portion of the will" Brian explained, his voice quieter, full of pain. "They have no other living relatives as far as I know. Now please, leave me alone."

Tom however, ever the journalist, was persistent. Normally he wouldn't be out on the field, but on this particular story, he didn't want to miss the opportunity as well as any potential money that would come his way.

"One more question Brian" Tom pleaded, causing the dog to stop in his tracks, "What does that mean for you? Will you take legal action to gain custody? Technically speaking you're not a member of the fam-"

Brian turned around and without a second thought punched Tom in the face, cutting him off again. He then gave another punch, this time to Tom's gut, bringing the anchorman down to the ground in minor pain. The dog then let out the loudest growl he could produce and got as close as he could to Tucker's face.

"You say that again" Brian warned, straining, "I will kill you, do you understand? I earned my place in that family. Every goddamn minute of it. Now get the fuck out of my way!"

Quagmire remembered that day, but he remembered it differently, for on that Monday he was sitting at home, cutting his lawn. The squirrels were in the trees, gathering nuts for the coming winter, the birds were in the branches, singing songs. On the sidewalk, an old woman whom Quagmire had never seen before was walking her dog, it looked like a mop from where he was standing.

As he continued to mow his lawn he tried to keep his mind off of the situation. He would never again sit at the Calm and listen to Peter's jokes, or joking or not, pursue Lois. He thought about how he would never hear Peter's laugh or see Lois' smile and how much they had given him.

Quagmire thought about saying something as he moved about his lawn, a final farewell, but he couldn't find the words to do any justice for the gravity of the situation. Quagmire continued his lawn in silence, saying nothing and allowing himself to think.

He was just about finished with the yard work when Brian came down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched over, eyes furrowed and definitely not in a good mood. He was caked in mud for some reason, it was someone had decided to throw him in a mud pit as if he were a pig. Quagmire also noticed that on Brian's back was a message in red spray paint. It was three letters- S. O. B. It didn't take a genius to figure what those letters stood for, but despite it being completely true, in both senses of the phrase, it still carried with it a stigma that is difficult to remove on one hand, and for Brian at least, impossible to get rid of on another.

"What happened to you?" Quagmire asked as he walked over, cutting the lawnmower's engine.

"Tom Tucker happened" Brian replied, stepping on the lawn.

Quagmire laughed, not out of disrespect but out of sheer belief, for Tom was exactly the type of person who would do such a thing and somehow still manage to get away with it.

"I told you to stay clear of those newscasters Brian" Quagmire continued, "Just until this thing blows over and we can get back to our lives."

Brian huffed, for nothing was ever that simple.

"Get back to our lives?" Brian declared, "How? We can't pick up the pieces and act like everything's going to be okay! It's not okay, it's never going to be okay again!"

Quagmire moved to the side of the house for a moment, returning with a garden hose.

"Turn around Brian" Quagmire instructed.

Brian did as he was told and turned around, as the water hit his back he couldn't help but cry, for they, meaning Tom and his small following of newscasters and devoted fans, had been cruel beyond reasonable measure.

As the mud and the paint washed off of Brian's back Quagmire could only feel two constant emotions, pity and anger. Pity for Brian himself, for he knew that he did not deserve this kind of treatment, even if he did despise him. Anger at Tom for being harsh and unbelievably uncharacteristic of a newscaster and angry himself, for he was beginning to think.

"So what happens now?" Brian said as the water turned off, small specks of paint and mud were still visible and Quagmire had not accounted for his front side, which was covered in as much caked earth as the back of him was.

"Get off my lawn" Quagmire exclaimed, "I just cut it and I don't want you dragging grass everywhere."

Brian turned around and looked down at the back of his legs, bits of grass were stuck to the wet hair of his fur. Taking Quagmire's advice, Brian stepped on the sidewalk and waited for Quagmire to spray him again. Nothing happened.

"Okay" Brian continued after a few seconds, "I'm off your lawn. What now?"

"Now?" Quagmire began, a slight laugh, "I do believe you're all wet."

Brian raised his ears in confusion, like dogs occasionally do. He didn't get so much as a word out before Quagmire turned on the hose at full blast, spraying him down to the ground.

"I'm going to kill you Quagmire!" Brian screamed over the water as he struggled to stand up, "You hear me!"

Quagmire was too busy laughing his ass off to pay any attention to Brian. After a few seconds Quagmire turned off the hose.

"Hey" Quagmire said, "You're clean aren't you?"

Brian growled, annoyed and in an even worse mood than before. Without even saying goodbye the dog made his way to the front porch of his house, Quagmire watching the entire way, his ears listening for a word, a laugh. Brian opened and closed the door, entering the house. Quagmire shook his head, put up the hose and continued working on the last patch of grass.

A knock at the door brought Quagmire out of his story and caused Brian to stop listening. As they both looked at the door, one in confusion and the other too tired to care, they had a feeling that whoever it was obviously had a good reason to be here, for no one in their right mind would knock on a door at 6:30 in the morning without probable cause on a cold Thursday.

"Do you think it's Chris?" Quagmire asked

Brian huffed at the notion, "After last night, are you kidding? I'd more surprised if that was a Witness at a door trying to sell propaganda that I didn't ask for and don't need than Chris."

Quagmire made his way towards the door and looked through the small peephole, the first time it had been used in ages. He saw nothing. Still, curiosity getting the better of him, Quagmire opened the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting at the Drunken Clam, Chris tried not to think about Peter or Lois and what they would think about his behavior. After threatening everyone in sight with his gun, Chris resigned himself to the bar stool he was in. Across the way, he caught the unwanted attention of Ernie the Giant Chicken, who was busy watching the football game, playing a round of pool, and talking up the waitress.

Ernie stopped his game and bade his farewell to the service worker before walking over to Chris, who upon seeing him, immediately reached for his weapon.

"Take it easy" Ernie said calmly, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just wanna talk."

Chris huffed, "Yeah, how'd that work with Peter?"

Ernie laughed and took the nearest bar stool, keeping one between himself and Chris to give them both plenty of space.

"Surprisingly well towards the end" Ernie admitted, "I'm just glad we managed to settle things out before-"

Chris turned away and casually rapped on the counter, asking for another beer. Ernie raised his eyebrows curiously, surprised that Chris was old enough to drink, or at the very least, pass off as being old enough to drink.

"Your dad was a good man" Ernie continued, "Better than most, and trust me that's saying something."

Chris shook his head pitifully, for he knew exactly what Ernie was doing and was in no mood for any of it. He didn't want to comforted, he wanted to be left alone. There was a short pause after that, neither of them knowing where the conversation would go. Ernie laughed as Chris stared at the glass in front of him, it was a empty pint, the only thing that Chris knew about beer was that particular size, the teen wondering why it was that he wasn't feeling anything.

"You know that's watered down right?" Ernie said with a jab, "There wasn't a drop of alcohol in that."

Chris huffed and stared at Jerome in disgust, the logical part of him knew that Jerome was doing the right thing, but Chris wasn't thinking logically, his thoughts focused solely on emotion. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or simply laugh it off, he decided that he didn't really care and simply dropped the matter.

"How's the family Chris?" Ernie asked, still pressing "I hear Meg's still taking it hard. Brian's been working 24/7 just to keep up. What about you? How are you getting on?"

Chris said nothing and simply rapping on the counter for a drink he would never receive. Ernie consequently, rapped twice. He was answered not with beer, but with water, for he had come alone and had no interest in getting drunk or dying on his way home. Taking a sip of his water, Ernie nonchalantly stood up and stretched before sitting back down in his place, looking intently at Chris as if he were studying him.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked, annoyed.

Ernie burped for no particular reason and shook his head, he wanted to say something but decided against it, in favor of action. Standing up, the chicken motioned for Chris to follow, who did so, more out of a desire to get whatever this was over with so that he would be left alone than to actually know what was going on.

Outside Ernie walked over to his motorcycle, it was an old bike, nothing fancy, but it was enough to suit his purposes. Pulling the extra helmet from underneath the seat, Ernie tossed it to Chris and patted the bike, bidding he get on.

"You're serious?" Chris said, confused, "Where are we going?"

Ernie smiled and shook his head in disagreement as he put his own helmet on and started the bike.

A few miles outside of Quahog is the small town of Ferndale. Although an unofficial suburb of Quahog, Ferndale was well enough removed from the metro area to still retain its independence, but only slightly. Thirty minutes passed from the Calm to their final destination, an old pool hall re-purposed as a house.

Walking up to the door, Ernie knocked on the door and was immediately greeted by his brother, Justin, and his nephew, Rudy.

"It's about time you showed up Ernie" Justin said welcomingly as he embraced his brother, "You're late."

Ernie laughed, for according to Justin he was always late to everything, even when he was early.

"I had to pick up a few things" Ernie explained, "I brought someone along, figured he could use it."

Ernie gestured towards Chris, who was leaning against the motorcycle, pulling out a cigarette. Justin glanced over and turned towards Rudy. He casually pointed towards the bike. Rudy nodded in understanding and made his way over.

"Hey kid" Chris said as Rudy walked up, "What are you doing here? You sure you should be out here at this time of night?"

Rudy nodded, "Please put that out" Rudy exclaimed, his voice soft and calm, "It's not good for you."

Chris huffed, "You don't tell me what to do" he continued, "Now do me a favor and get lost."

Rudy remained where he was, saying nothing and nervously shuffling his feet. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, so he did exactly what Justin and Ernie told him to do when meeting uncooperative people, be as nice as humanly possible.

"Come on mister" Rudy said, with a hint of excitement, immediately switching tactics, "This is gonna be fun."

Chris shook his head, in complete disagreement, for he doubted that anything Rudy considered fun would be equally enjoyable for him. Still, if only because Ernie was watching him like a hawk would its prey, Chris complied and followed Rudy inside.

Inside the living room was a large card table in place of the couch. Sitting at this table were Ernie's relatives- his sister Jill and her husband, Frank; his uncle Martin and his aunt Betty; his father Ernest, and his mother Pearl. All of them were sitting around swapping stories and telling jokes, while partaking in various finger foods, most of them vegetables. Ernie, Justin, Rudy, and Chris walked in just as Uncle Martin was finishing up the end of his favorite story.

"And that's how I got married"

All of them laughed, even Ernie and Justin, who had heard the story enough times to know what was going on. Martin looked up, smiling as he saw his nephews and great nephew.

"There they are!" Martin exclaimed happily, standing up and embraced the three of them, "how are my boys doin'?"

Ernie and Justin, returning the embrace.

"Great" Justin answered, "Rudy just got into the best school in the county. He's such a smart kid Martin."

Martin looked down and gently ruffled Rudy's feathers, who smiled and finally let go. Ernie, in response to Martin's question, laughed. It was the kind of laugh a person would use when not wanting to discuss a situation, the kind of laugh used to cover up pain.

"I've been better Martin" Ernie replied, "Much better."

Martin raised his eyebrows, he was about to speak when Ernie introduced Chris.

"This is Chris Griffin. I'm sure you heard about-"

Martin didn't have to hear the rest of it to understand. He nodded, turning towards Chris he gently slapped his back and gestured towards the table, bidding that he take a seat.

"There's always room for one more" Martin declared, "Come on Chris, sit with us. Don't be afraid."

Chris rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he wasn't, it was afraid. In a way he was almost insulted, the very idea of fear made Chris laugh in defiance.

"What are you saying?" Chris asked, "You saying I'm afraid of you?"

Martin shook his head, "Not at all" he continued, recovering, "Now please, sit. Eat and be merry."

"No offense but this isn't exactly what I had in mind tonight" Chris responded, completely indifferent to manners and other social norms, "All I want to do is drink, smoke and be left alone."

Ernie slowly put his hand on Chris' shoulder and led him to an empty chair, the chicken taking the one next to him. Looking around the table Ernie smiled and graciously bowed his head. One hand in Chris' and the other in Frank's, Ernie began to pray.

"Lord God, we thank you for allowing to meet here in this place, to be with family and friends. To laugh, to remember-"

Chris broke the circle and stood up, immediately making his way towards the door. Ernie watched him from the corner of his eye, curiosity taking over. He did not move and simply decided to continue praying.

"To thank and praise you. We ask that you make this place your own tonight. Enter it and fill the very walls with your presence just as you enter our hearts-"

The front door opened, Chris made his way back to the parking lot. Ernie sighed, every bone in his body wanted to follow, to understand, to make a connection, but his mind refused.

"Thank you for all that you do, all that you are, all that you have been, and all that you will be."

The table said Amen and broke off. They then stood up and made their way to the kitchen, where a large assortment of food- barbecue, ham, eggs, baked beans, green beans, and corn. Ernie grabbed himself two plates, filling them both with everything there was to have, and made his way outside.

Chris was leaning next to Ernie's motorcycle smoking a cigarette and trying to be anywhere else then where he was. Ernie appeared out of the corner of his eye, Chris rolled his eyes, for he knew, without him even saying anything that the chicken was going to give him some type of lecture or quote a famous person and apply it to the current situation.

"You could have told me that you were going to do that" Chris declared

"I take it you're not a praying man" Ernie said quickly, choosing his sentences to prevent Chris from responding before he had a chance to speak.

"Not lately" Chris answered, "Not much reason to."

Ernie laughed and shook his head in disagreement.

"You don't need a reason to pray, you either do it or you don't."

Chris huffed, "Nothing is that simple."

Ernie sighed and laughed, "Everything is that simple when you take it up with Him. He created the world, surely He can handle this."

Chris rolled his eyes, "Can He bring my Dad back? Can He bring my Mom back? Can He make me have a normal life?"

Ernie hung his head and sat the plates down on the ground, leaving them there for the insects.

"He can do many things" Ernie replied, a hint of sadness creeping in his voice, "He just sometimes chooses not to do them."

Chris turned around and walked away, having no interest in anything Ernie had to say. Ernie didn't even have to think twice before following him, guilt and perhaps a bit of calling, propelling him forward. As he walked, making sure to keep his distance from Chris and yet maintain line of sight, Ernie thought about all the times that he had stormed off, the times when he said things that he would never take back, the times when he thought the world was against him and suffocating the very life out of him. He thought about the times he used hate to his advantage. Mostly though, Ernie thought about his wife.

"No one is born evil Ernie" she had said to him once, "Just as no one is born alone."

Chris stopped walking after a few minutes, coming upon an empty field. Ernie knew this field and knew it well. He knew that just beyond the field, in the outlying woods, was an oak tree, and on this oak tree was a bench swing. He knew that seventy five steps through the high grass was a lone clear spot, prefect for stargazing or picnics.

"You know this place?" Chris asked, turning around, having been aware of the chicken's presence the entire walk.

Ernie nodded, "I spent a good bit of time here."

Ernie gestured towards the clearing.

"That's where I met Nicole"

Ernie slowly walked towards the spot, Chris said and did nothing, only looking around and taking the space in. Standing in the circle Ernie looked up towards the high moon and smiled, remembering better days long gone. Chris stared at Ernie in complete and total confusion, wondering why it was that he wasn't being scolded.

"Are you messing with me?" Chris began, raising his eyebrows as he walked forward.

Ernie laughed, guessing at what Chris was thinking before he said it. The chicken shook his head in pity and after a moment's hesitation, continued walking, heading for the oak tree.

"Hey!" Chris yelled, running to catch up, "Get back here, I'm talking to you!"

Ernie either didn't hear him, or did and was ignoring him intentionally, for he gave no response and simply continued as if Chris wasn't even there. Ernie's walk was fast paced and slightly hurried, struggling to get through the high grass of the field. Chris' run was slower and tangled, his feet catching in crab grass and rogue sticks, and a few holes from unruly moles and gophers. Eventually however, both of them made to the woods.

Chris was breathing heavily by the time he stopped, Ernie laughed a bit at this and sighed, continuing down a short path that led to the oak tree.

The oak tree was large even by oak tree standards. The bench swing that Ernie remembered was old and falling apart, the wood have been eaten by termites and destroyed by the rain and what animals passed through. The rope that was attached to the swing and to the lowest hanging branch was frayed and in need of replacement, it was a wonder that the swing remained suspended. Ernie, at the seeing the swing, shrugged and sat on a tree stump across from it.

"This is where I proposed" Ernie explained as Chris appeared from the trail, "You should have seen the place then. God's work in action."

"What is it with you?" Chris asked, annoyed, "Why are you telling me this?"

Ernie looked up towards the sky at the question, not really having an answer. He then began to cry, the tears were bittersweet. The memory and significance of the place he was sitting in combined with his life up to now the reason for them. It was not a hard cry, but it was not soft either, it was the kind of cry one made when faced with the reality that they either denied and now accepted as true, or believed and did not want to believe.

"I used to be a lot like you Chris" Ernie explained, "I was angry. I thought I was owed something just because I grew up hard and fast. My father used to be beat me just for speaking out of turn. My mother wouldn't feed me dinner, saying that we had to conserve and ration food for winter. They never told me they loved me, they still haven't. They never will."

A lightning bug flickered to Ernie's right. Ernie looked up casually, his hands folded as if in prayer.

"Nicole was the first person that meant something to me. We started out as friends, stayed that way through high school. The second I got the chance I proposed."

Chris sighed, already he was getting bored for Ernie did not answer his question or even make an attempt to answer his question. He laughed and shook his head, having an idea of where the story was going.

"Let me guess" Chris declared, "You were married two months later and lived happily until she left you for someone better looking?"

Ernie stared at Chris in confusion, his face slightly hurt at the suggestion.

"No" Ernie corrected, calming down "We were married six months later and lived happily until she died of blackhead disease."

"I'm sorry" Chris replied

Ernie stopped before he could continue and stood up.

"Don't be" Ernie said as he walked back down the trail, "She lived a good life. Made me happy."

Chris laughed and followed.

"Wouldn't you be happier if she were alive?" Chris asked

"If she were alive she would die in unimaginable pain" Ernie explained, taking his words literally, "Treatment was unavailable then and it's unavailable now. Better if she's with God, without pain, then here with me, suffering."

"That's not exactly what I meant" Chris explained, "I mean-"

Ernie turned around slightly, facing him and staring into his eyes.

"I know what you meant" Ernie retorted sharply, "Some things are the way they are simply because they are. No matter how many times you pray and how many promises you make, it's not up to you. You can promise the world and the stars and the Moon itself and still the answer will be no. It's not because it's not enough, it's because it's not the things He's asking for."

Chris said nothing more after that. He wanted to believe that Ernie's words were true, that all of this was genuine, but he couldn't help but feel that it was a trick to get him to confess and admit his feelings, as if Ernie was using himself and his own troubles to make a point. In a strange way Chris was right, but one look at Ernie told him otherwise. There was nothing about this that was fake, and even if it was, no one seemed to care.


	6. The Gravity of the Situation

The Gravity of the Situation; The Introduction of Mr. Peabody and a Few Words about Him

Carter Pewterschmidt sat in the armchair of the living room, saying nothing, only staring at Brian with a glare that would make gargoyles jealous. Brian meanwhile, was looking at the large file that Carter had placed on the coffee table minutes before.

"You can't be serious" Brian declared, "You're taking me to court?"

Carter nodded, "Your time is up Brian. Either you give them to me now, or I take you to court and we settle this with a jury."

Quagmire, who was sitting on the couch trying not to explode in a fiery rage, was staring blankly at a muted TV on which was a gag reel of Channel 5 News, the only time that people actually cared about Tom Tucker.

"You can't do this" Brian continued, "I need more time Carter."

Carter shook his head pitifully and sighed.

"Six months is more than enough time to demonstrate financial stability, mental competence and physical health" Carter declared, "And what about the kids Brian? Are they any better? No. They're worse. Meg is crazy, Stewie is reclusive, and Chris is a deviant."

Brian growled, for despite seeing Carter's points and their validity, he was amazed that he would openly say such things about his own grandchildren.

"They need me" Brian defended sharply, "They don't have anyone else Carter, you don't know them like I do. Meg doesn't need a shrink, Chris doesn't need prison and Stewie doesn't need interaction, they need understanding, time, and individual attention."

Carter laughed and rolled his eyes.

"And you honestly believe that you can provide all of those things?" Carter replied, "Stop kidding yourself Brian. You're only making things harder, on yourself and especially on the kids. Let them come with me. I can take care of them, give them whatever they want, all of their needs would be provided for, colleges paid, high paying jobs secured. They get all of that."

Brian hung his head in shame. Quagmire glanced over and immediately got on the defensive.

"It's not about money" Quagmire began, standing up and taking the file in hand, "It's about family."

Carter huffed, insulted.

"I am family" Carter replied, "Brian's just a dog, he is the property of a dead man. Technically speaking he's not even a Griffin anymore, since he was in Peter's name."

"I emancipated myself at the first opportunity" Brian corrected, "I _chose_ to stay here, and like it or not I am part of this family. Just because Peter's gone doesn't change that."

Carter stood and slowly made his way towards the door. He wasn't going to waste his time arguing over something that would be discussed and debated over in court before a judge.

"Pray to God whoever your lawyer is, it's a damn good one" Carter said with a warning tone, "You won't last ten seconds otherwise. I'm sorry Brian, but I have to do what's best for them. I hope you understand."

The sound of the front door closing echoed throughout the house, breaking the otherwise dead silence and sending footsteps, Meg and Stewie, down the staircase and into the living room. Quagmire looked at them, and then at Brian, he didn't see anything wrong with any of them. The only thing Quagmire saw were three people that were lost and in desperate need.

Brian turned towards Stewie, slowly, an idea was forming in his head. Without even so much as thinking, or giving an explanation, Brian walked over to the kitchen, picked up the house phone and dialed.

In the bustling and hustling of New York City there was a rather large and ridiculous penthouse at the edge of Central Park. This penthouse was the home of Mr. Peabody.

In order to understand the relationship between Brian and Mr. Peabody one would have to go back several years, in which during one of their time trips, Stewie and Brian had accidentally run into Mr. Peabody and his son Sherman. It was a difficult time full of insanity, trust issues, abandonment, a few dismemberments and of course many things that most would consider scientifically impossible. During this time of total confusion, Brian and Mr. Peabody developed something of a rivalry, even going so far as competing for the attention of Stewie and Sherman, each of them taking interest in the other dog. It made little difference who won, for ultimately they came and left with nothing but a few broken bones and a tremendous amount of respect for each other that developed naturally into friendship.

The phone on Peabody's desk rang just as Mr. Peabody was exiting the shower after a long day of taking Sherman to convince Hitler to pursue his art career and taking the boy to school as well as participating in what he considered to be the pinnacle of human social interaction, getting on Facebook for two hours looking at people and not really caring about their vacations or what their babies looked like.

"Yes, yes, yes" Mr. Peabody said to no one as he appeared from the other room, a towel wrapped around his waist, "I'm coming, hold on."

Mr. Peabody removed the towel for a moment and shook himself free of any loose water droplets before sitting down in his ridiculously large chair that he had little use for other than to seem more important than he actually was. Picking up the phone and simultaneously wishing that he hadn't in favor of hearing his answering machine just for the sake of hearing it, for he hadn't heard it in a while, Peabody straightened his glasses and made himself comfortable, placing his feet on the desk as nonchalantly as possible.

"Peabody" Brian said from the other side, "I need your help."

"Brian!" Peabody exclaimed jubilantly, "How've you been? Still thinking about coming down for the summer, we have plenty of space."

Brian laughed and sighed, remembering his promise that he made some time ago, a promise that he had yet to fulfill, and one that he initially made with Peter and Lois in mind.

"Some other time" Brian continued, "Don't worry, I'll make down there eventually."

Mr. Peabody was about to mention that New York and Rhode Island were so close to each other that there was virtually no excuse for Brian not to come and visit, Brian however continued without hesitation.

"Hey listen you wouldn't happen to be free for a few weeks would you?"

The question was off-putting, its suddenness and on the nose phrasing uncomfortable and concerning. Mr. Peabody straightened himself out, removing his legs off the table and down on the floor, his back hunched over as if he were about to enter a serious high stakes poker tournament.

"What's going on Brian?" Mr. Peabody asked, "Are the kids alright? Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Brian told Mr. Peabody everything there was to tell, from Peter and Lois' death, which Peabody had no previous knowledge about, to Chris' behavior, to thoughts of his own suicide, to his questioning of everything he thought the universe and the world to be, to the Peter's will and the court suit and Carter's arrival and immediate departure. As Mr. Peabody listened to Brian's words, his heart began to break, for in addition to the already sad account the longer Brian spoke, the more desperate and sad his voice became, by the time he was done in his explanation it was sobs, sniffles, and violent gulps of choking and useless air.

_"To lose so much in so little time" _Mr. Peabody thought, _"to add the children to his long and painful list would be suicide."_

It didn't take long for Mr. Peabody to make up his mind, for Brian was one of the few friends that he had, and friends he placed in a higher value than himself.

Brian hung up the phone and said nothing, having no idea as to why Peabody cut the conversation short, without so much as saying anything in reply. As far as he knew, Mr. Peabody had abandoned him, just like so many had before.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Ernie and Chris had returned Rudy had just entered his room, preparing for bed. Walking towards the room, making sure to avoid any squeaky floorboards, Ernie reached the door and carefully opened it, quickly shutting it, in order to keep out the annoying light of the rest of the house. The room was simple, the only things that were in there that were of particular note were the bed, which was facing the door and resting against the back wall, and the dresser next to it, which was adorned with pictures, all of them having Rudy present with either Justin, Ernie, Martin, or all three, with him.

Ernie moved towards the dresser and stared at the pictures, trying to see if he remembered or recognized anything. There was one in particular that stood out among them all. Rudy was holding a large fish and standing at the edge of a dock, Justin, Ernie and Martin were next to him, posing for the photo and also holding up, theirs significantly smaller and not worth keeping. Ernie noticed that the picture was slightly out of focus, which meant that there was only one person who could've taken it-Nicole, who was notorious for being really bad at taking photographs. Ernie however, did not mind, for he knew that the pictures were a side-effect of the disease as it took hold of her body, for Nicole's early pictures were that of professional quality, worthy to be hung in museums, if they still existed.

The rooster turned towards his nephew and smiled, almost immediately he thought of his own son, Jaime, who had he lost a year before his wife, taken out to slaughter to be served to the local KFCs.

"Dying a hundred thousand times is nothing compared to the weight one feels when losing a son once" Ernie thought to himself, "Still. We must try to be happy, if nothing else for the sake of those we lost, because that is what they would have wanted. We must try to be happy. Maybe, if we fake it long enough, we actually will be."

Ernie silently began to cry, the memory of his late wife and son overcoming him with sadness but not grief. He opened his eyes, clasped his hands and prayed without having a clear reason other than it was simply something that felt like it needed to be done, which in his mind, was all that was necessary. The door opened and closed behind him, Ernie felt a hand touch his shoulder, it was stubby and strangely hard, he turned around to face Chris.

"What are you doing here?" Ernie asked, still whispering.

"Looking for you" Chris replied, "I think I deserve some answers. Why did you bring me here?"

Ernie shrugged and stood up, shaking his head and trying to come up with an answer that made sense. In truth, Ernie's reasoning for helping Chris was because of a promise he had made to Peter a week before he left for the vacation he would never come back from.

It was in the Drunken Clam the next time that Ernie had seen and spoken to Peter Griffin, who throughout most of lunch talked about the brewery and its troubles, which made Ernie worry even more, considering that half of his family was employed by the company. He wondered what he would do if he ever had to provide for them on a full time basis.

"Promise me something" Peter said as he took a drink of his beer, "If anything happens to me or Lois that you'll take care of them for me."

The honor of being signed as Chris, Meg, and Stewie's godfather was something that Ernie had respectfully declined, refusing to see the court accepting a giant chicken, even a sentient one, as legal grounds for guardianship.

"You and I both know that I can't do that" Ernie declared, biting into the buffalo chips they had ordered, "I've got my own family to think about here. I'm sorry Peter but if it does come to that I can't do much."

Peter shook his head, not really caring that Ernie could not physically carry out his request, for there was always Brian. Peter knew in his heart that the dog would go above and beyond the call of duty in terms of caring for his children, most likely as means of atonement, but Ernie he knew would provide the things that Brian could not, either physically, due to age, or mentally, due to personal outlook and undying beliefs. The question of Christianity and religion in general when it appeared was answered almost always with hostility when it came to Brian, but with Ernie it was answered with respect and tolerance. Peter wondered perhaps if Brian's hostility came from somewhere, for it is an undeniable fact that no one is born an atheist, just as no one is born a Christian, or anything else. It is a learned thing, something that has to be accepted by the individual as fact and from there, taken into belief. The question of politics and ethics, in particular when it came to whether or not bestiality was an issue, was also a topic of great debate that Peter suddenly took in an interest in in terms of the sociological and psychological effects of being a liberal or a conservative or if a talking animal was enough of a base for it to be considered human. Why Peter took an interest in these things Ernie never figured out, but he supposed, at least at the time, that it had something to do with the legal parameters surrounding custody if Brian had to take up both positions of mother and father.

"Do what you can" Peter replied, "Whatever you can do, I'd appreciate it."

Ernie nodded and said nothing, secretly hoping that the day would never come.

Standing outside Rudy's room, the silence that existed escalated from deafening to the vacuums of space. Ernie stood with his arms at his side, submissive and partially embarrassed. Chris, opposite him, was relaxed, his face filled with understanding and memory, thoughts of his father and his good but disastrous intentions came to the forefront, making him laugh and smile for the first time in weeks. In that moment Chris had found a little bit of his father inside Ernie, he didn't really know why or how, but it was there.

"I need to go back" Chris said.

Ernie stood at attention at this, confused at Chris' response and wondering why he wasn't being berated.

"What do you mean?" Ernie replied, "You're going back home? After everything you did?"

Chris nodded, "I still don't know why you brought me here but I don't really care. The longer I stay the harder it's going to be on them. I can't have that."

Ernie sighed and extended his wing for a handshake, his eyes wet with tears.

"So long then" the chicken exclaimed, "You'll do fine Chris. I know you will."

Without even so much as thinking Chris embraced Ernie as tightly as he could. He felt an incredible urge to say something but instead could only cry. They were not tears of sadness or joy, they were not even for the moment. The tears shed were for Peter, asking for forgiveness. Ernie, in response, returned the embrace, causing Chris to shake and cry all the more.


	8. Chapter 8

To get his mind off of the situation at hand, Brian decided to take Meg and Stewie out to lunch, for despite being a Thursday in the middle of October, school and all thoughts of it seemed to less of a precedence, and therefore remained unimportant. Brian rationalized, that given their various states of mind, Meg's quietness and Stewie's reclusiveness, being around hundreds of people who were quick to judge and even quicker to upset, was not the ideal situation for them to be in.

Stopping inside a small diner on the outskirts of town, Brian, Stewie, and Meg sat at one of the window booths. Each of them noticed, at different times, how the diner looked like something out of the 1950's. The seats, at the bar, the tables, and the booths, were made of red leather; the tile floor was a black and white checkerboard pattern; the walls were an off-white cream color with various stripes up, down and horizontally across them. Even the waitresses, who were for the most part normal looking, had the appearance of that they would have had forty to fifty years ago, red shirts pressed; cream colored skirts, medium high heel shoes; and hair styles ranging from honeycomb, a large type of bun, to a single ponytail.

A dark-skinned waitress approached the booth, a handful of menus in her hands, as well as a notepad and a pen. Brian tried not to notice her eyes, heterochromia indiums of blue and green for the right and left respectively, and found a sense of innocence and calmness behind them. He smiled for a second, delighted in himself that he actually found a reason to smile, and chuckled in disbelief.

"How are we doing today?" the waitress asked as she handed out the menus, "Would you like to try our specials?"

She turned to Brian.

"Perhaps a beer, some wine?"

Brian shook her off and handed the menu back to her, having already decided in his head what his order was going to be. He turned to Meg and Stewie, who were still scanning the menus, both of them deciding between the bacon cheeseburger and the chicken wanton tacos.

"Give us a minute" Brian replied, "A water for me, a lemonade for him and a Coke for her."

The waitress nodded, took the drink order and made her way back to the kitchen. Brian sighed and shook his head, only to let out a laugh.

"How pathetic am I right?" Brian exclaimed, leaning towards Meg and Stewie, trying to start a conversation, "Look at me, what chance do I have with someone like that?"

Stewie, who was paying attention at this point, laughed to himself at Brian's self-pity, for it was in many ways, entirely justified. Brian was clearly not who he used to be, his lack of confidence diminishing as time went on only to be replaced by victimization.

"Stop it" Stewie declared, "You have just as much a chance with that woman as anyone else. You're not pathetic."

Brian huffed at the idea, for not only was it completely ridiculous but it was an insult to the one thing that is everyone's enemy- time. Every morning Brian looked at himself and saw a decrepit and sagging bag of meat that was his body. Most of his fur, in his mind, was grey or nonexistent; the area around his eyes were black rings due to being overworked and underpaid; and his hands were covered in wrinkles, making him appear as if he were made of leaves.

Meg, who was also paying attention, shook her head and smiled as gently and warmly as she could, for she saw none of those things. What she saw was a strong and hopeful father, a loyal friend, and the one person she knew who would always be there. In her eyes, and in the eyes of everyone else, Brian was not a decaying Egyptian mummy or a member of the walking dead devoid of feeling, he was youthful and generally a pleasant person to be around, given the right company. True, his fur was greying a bit, but that was not seen as a sign of age, but of wisdom. It was also true that his eyes were worn, both with the trials and tribulations of life and of its various and numerous victories.

Reaching her hand, Meg touched Brian's arm, causing him to look in her direction. She did not say anything physically by moving her lips, instead her eyes did the talking for her.

"Everything's going to be okay. There's no reason to worry."

Brian and Stewie blinked for a few moments, for despite Meg not saying a word, they heard what her eyes had said, for a moment causing them both, at for a moment, to believe in impossible things that can only be explained through divine means. They weren't exactly sure how to respond or what would be appropriate, so they did the only thing that made sense and embraced each other. It was awkward, for Brian had to reach the entire table, but they didn't really care at the moment, all that really mattered was Meg, who laughed, glad that she had at least this one simple thing.

The waitress reappeared, ready to take their order, Brian and Stewie broke away and wiped their eyes, for they had cried for a bit. Turning towards the waitress and then back at Meg and Stewie, Brian chuckled to himself once more before setting a fifty dollar bill on the table along with a small piece of paper. Brian then made his way out of the booth and towards the front door, Meg and Stewie following him.

Across the street from the diner was a small cemetery, in the back of which was a small congregation for a Mr. Ryan Henry, a man of little importance in the grand scheme of things, but in the local community was a light for the lost ones, being a teacher of great renown and respect both in academia and in the students he had held so dear to his heart. Many of Meg's classmates were in attendance, for were the ones who knew Mr. Henry best. One by one, they all stood up and gave their piece as to why Mr. Henry was an important figure in their lives, most of them were stock speeches said with fake faces and false sensitivities. When this was done, the appointed pastor of the ceremony stood up, a bible in his hand and gave out the benediction.

A few minutes later a soft guitar began playing as people began to leave after paying their respects. The guitarist, Vinny, was in the middle of playing Mr. Henry's favorite song, Bill Wither's _Lean on Me. _He did not sing, despite the fact that he wanted to, for it was something that everyone knew and could possibly relate to. Still, he let the guitar do the work and simply decided to hum the lyrics to appease himself.

It was at this moment that Brian, Meg and Stewie entered the cemetery. They weren't exactly sure why they decided to go, but something compelled them. Instinctively, as they passed through the threshold Meg and Stewie each made the sign of the cross, Brian did nothing, keeping his head down and his walk steady. Turning a right, away from Mr. Henry's funeral, the three Griffins passed three rows of plaques and headstones before coming to a large tree, underneath which were Peter and Lois in a double plot.

The headstone was simple, for that was all that Brian could afford, it read simply- Peter Griffin, A father, a master, and a son; Lois Griffin, A mother, a daughter. Friends to all, enemies to none. Adorning the headstone's right and left corners were two roses, one for each of them. The foot of the headstone was covered with fresh white flowers, someone, the caretaker, had taken to place them on every headstone and plaque in the cemetery, a considerable effort. The ground beneath the headstone was hard, weathered by rain, snow, and natural time. The tree that was above and sheltering the grave was an oak. A lone chipmunk was scaling it as Brian, Meg, and Stewie walked up, in the process of gathering nuts for the upcoming winter, which always seemed to come earlier every year.

Stewie walked up to the headstone and gently patted it as if it were an old friend. He stared at the names and dashes, completely ignoring the numbers between the dashes, recognizing that they did not matter and paled in significance to the simplest of marks, a single straight line. Meg smiled and sat down on the ground, looking first at the headstone and then up at the tree, watching the branches and the various animals among them, talking to each other as if they were in a small tight knit community.

"I was wondering when I might see you again" a voice exclaimed, causing them all to turn around to face the worship minister.

"And you are?" Stewie asked, extremely confused.

Vinny laughed and shook his head, amazed at himself for neglecting simple manners when meeting people.

"Forgive me" he continued, "My name is Vinny. I'm the worship minister at the church, perhaps you've seen me?"

Stewie shook his head in disagreement, for he had never seen Vinny before in his entire life, mostly because whenever he went to service, when he found time to go, it was always in bible school and never in the sanctuary. Brian folded his arms, rather annoyed, in his head immediately expecting a lecture or a great sermon, which in his experience, preachers and all people of faith were known to giving, especially to people who did not ask for nor need them.

"What do you want?" Brian asked, expressing his feelings, "We're kind of busy here."

Vinny nodded in understanding, saying nothing, and presented his guitar, which he was holding in his right hand. Straightening his bow tie, which he wore during the funeral, Vinny cleared his throat.

"I thought you guys might want to hear a song or two" Vinny declared, "Do you mind?"

Stewie nodded, for as far as he was concerned this was a blatant interruption of privacy and personal space. Whatever moment that was created or about to created was ruined by Vinny's presence.

"No thank you" Stewie replied, "It's a nice gesture, really, but now is not the time."

Vinny sighed and nodded again, now he really understood. Shouldering his guitar, Vinny smiled and gently shook the hands of Stewie and Meg, stopping short of Brian, taking a few moments to take him in.

"You're Brian right?" Vinny began, "The one who works at the Calm?"

Brian huffed and casually nodded, in his head Vinny was already chastising him for working in a bar; something that he knew was considered by the upmost purists to be a den of inequity.

"Save your breath" Brian said, "I don't have time for your lectures. Yes, I work in a bar; yes, I work in a brewery; yes I have done many things that I am not particularly proud of. No, I do not want anything having to do with your church, I do not want to be saved, resurrected, reincarnated or whatever is it you want me to do to make sure I have enteral life. I will gladly donate whatever money you need to make sure that people who believe whatever crazy afterlife they want as long as you leave me alone and let me life my own life in my own way."

Vinny stared at him wide-eyed, frozen in place as his brain process everything that Brian just said.

"All I was going to say was that you know how to make a good draft" Vinny exclaimed, "You didn't have to get all hostile on me, you're not going to go Hell for anything."

Brian was having a hard time believing him, for that was exactly what religious people wanted him to think, for most religious people he encountered had the mind set of Claude Frollo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame, who in the novel was an insane, murderous pervert who believed that anyone who strayed from Catholicism earned a first class ticket on the speed train to eternal damnation. Vinny, however, was not as strict when it came to such things, and so only laughed, perhaps a bit disrespectfully, at Brian's sudden stoicism.

Meg turned towards Vinny and placed a hand on his guitar, taking it from him, causing the dog to stop what he was doing. Strumming the strings for a few seconds, Meg looked up at the tree, smiled, and began an acoustic version of Bette Midler's _The Rose, _one of Peter's favorite songs. It was ironic considering that Vinny had offered to play song and that he had been denied only for Meg to start playing one, but no one paid this any mind, mostly because it was Meg and it was a miracle to get her to do anything of her own free will, so they let it pass.

Brian and Stewie, after a few seconds recognizing the tune, swayed side to side and began to sing, harmonizing with each other. Vinny stared at this scene and could not help but feel that something was missing, something incredibly important. It was at that moment that Chris appeared, coming up the hill from behind, just as the climax, the last chorus, came around. Even Meg, who was silent for most of the song, let out her voice at this particular section, for it carried significance that surpassed all previous feeling and emotion that held her silence. This significance, was mostly that of Peter, as she remembered the time that the family almost went to the Grand Canyon, and numerous times after that, in which the song came up unexpectedly for no reason whatsoever. It was a moment of peace, of clarity, but most importantly, it was a release, for all them, each in their own way, began to let go and began to live for their own sakes.

When the song had finally faded out and the last notes escaped into the air, Brian turned to Chris and embraced him, not really caring that he was crying. Chris returned the gesture and sighed deeply.

"You're back" Brian declared thankfully, forgetting that Vinny was even there, his stoicism replaced with happiness and for a moment, praise, "I thought you wanted to kill me!"

Chris laughed and gave a slight nod, for in many ways he still couldn't make himself forgive Brian completely, and as a result still had resent for him, but it was significantly reduced thanks to Ernie's influence.

"How'd you get here?" Brian continued, "I have the car."

Chris looked behind and gestured towards the far end of the cemetery, standing at a foot of a grave was Ernie, his motorcycle on the other side of the fence near a side gate.

"I figured you'd be here" Chris answered, "Ernie dropped me off. Turns out he's not a bad guy after all."

Vinny laughed in agreement, for that was an understatement, Ernie being the church bassist and a former regular in his congregation. He gave a slight wave and pulled out a business card, handing it Meg, before taking his guitar and walking down the path he had come, deciding that whatever work that had to be done had already been completed for the day.

Stewie walked over to Chris and hugged his leg, in his own way, signaling to be held. Chris obliged and laughed to himself. He then turned towards Brian and Meg and then back down at Ernie.

"Come on" Chris declared, "There's someone I want you to meet."

Chris made his way down towards the back end of the cemetery, hoisting Stewie on his shoulders, all the while Brian and Meg following behind, each of them wondering what had happened to him.


	9. Chapter 9

Mr. Peabody straightened himself out over his desk as he closed Brian's personal file, having read it for the fifth time. The only thing that he managed to get from it was that Brian was, in general, a horrible person, having had seven kids in his lifetime and not bothering to see any of them; four so-called marriages; a long and painful history of drug use; a two year prison sentence for an unrelated instance; a history of self-harm including several suicide attempts; two novels, one of which was autobiography that no one bothered to read; and finally only two people that were listed as being close friends, none of the Griffins being among them, instead someone named Parker, and another named Reggie, who Mr. Peabody assumed was short for Reginald. It was obvious to Mr. Peabody that the record was made before Brian came to Quahog, or at least before he entered the Griffins, for they weren't even mentioned despite the fact that some of the records were a combined history and thus, the file was incomplete. Based on this information and this alone, it was a hopeless and meaningless task, all-in-all a fruitless effort and a general waste of time.

_"At the end of the day"_ Mr. Peabody thought to himself, _"There's really no point to it. He has no case, there is absolutely no proof that he is a decent person willing to take the mantle of fatherhood."_

Mr. Peabody rose from his desk and was half tempted to call Brian and tell him of his findings, but he figured it would be a wasted effort, for he automatically assumed that Brian knew his own history and his minimal chance of success based on past events.

_"The only way to move forward is to focus on the present."_ Mr. Peabody continued, _"What qualities does Brian have that he lacked then that would make for a suitable parent?"_

Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from his top drawer Mr. Peabody began to write down everything he thought Brian to be. Being an extremely through person, he then proceeded to call every person who might have a connection to him, excluding those directly involved to prevent bias.

The first person he called was Brian's cousin, Jasper, who gave the usual fluff that he always gave, how Brian was an excellent person with flaws but nothing that would warrant his inability to parent. Mr. Peabody although doubting Jasper's claim that Brian could walk on water, wrote down his statement, making a separate list parallel to his own. The next person he called was Julian Lancaster, the mayor of a small town in Kentucky that Brian had visited and had been a resident of for a few years before heading to New England. Mr. Peabody noted Lancaster's report, which was almost the exact opposite of Jasper's, that Brian was manipulative, a control freak, a degenerate, a lay-about, and waste of breath, time, and money.

Four hours later Mr. Peabody had called forty two people, all of them giving similar reports that Brian was everything from a homicidal manic to a rapist and all the bad things in-between. He didn't seem to have a prayer in the world, but then again Brian wouldn't have accepted it anyway, being an atheist.

"The evidence against him is irrefutable" Mr. Peabody declared, now speaking his thoughts out loud, "Carter has money, power, and a suitable position. Love is something that comes with time, so that isn't a really a factor. What does Brian have? Nothing. Nothing but the collar around his neck and a merger paycheck that is barely able to feed himself, let alone three growing children."

Stopping to take a break Mr. Peabody rose from his desk and entered the living room, out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherman, sitting at the piano, practicing his music. There was a small tinge of hope that entered the dog's heart in that moment. The hope that he would one day see Sherman happy, something that he doubted Sherman was. He guessed this, based solely on Sherman's sleeping patterns, they were irregular and when he did sleep it was restless and obviously troubled. Peabody did what he could but for some reason felt that his efforts simply weren't enough.

Walking over to the piano bench, Mr. Peabody sat down and for a moment became a dog, brushing up against Sherman in an attempt to display his affection. Sherman, reciprocated and wrapped his arm around him. Then, for no reason at all, Mr. Peabody cried, in part for himself, in part for Sherman, and in part for Brian.

It was well into the night when Mr. Peabody found himself on the porch of the Griffins. In his hands was Brian's personal file as well all the information he had gathered. It wasn't much of a case, but it was at least a starting point, which was better than nothing.

The door opened to reveal Vinny, who had taken it upon himself to check in and see how things were going, he was dressed in a decent sweater and glasses that he didn't really need. A small travel Bible, one that contained the New Testament and Psalms, was in his right hand, in his left, folded neatly was a pamphlet promoting the church.

"Hello" Vinny said with a welcome smile, "How can I help you?"

Mr. Peabody looked around curiously as if he wasn't entirely sure he was at the right house, a worried and somewhat submissive on his face, which was normally riddled with confidence and reassurance.

"I'm looking for Brian" Mr. Peabody exclaimed, "Is he around?"

Vinny shook his head, "He's working at the Calm" he answered, "He'll be back eventually. Why don't you come on in? Get the cold out."

Mr. Peabody nodded and shook himself, taking up Vinny's offer and stepped inside.

Stewie, Chris and Meg were sitting on the couch watching TV, Mr. Peabody wasn't sure what it was or if it was anything at all, the only thing he knew was that it involved George O'Brian, one of Brian's relatives, a cousin of some kind, living in Alaska and teaching people survival skills they would never use. In the reclining chair was Ernie, his hands in his lap and his head down in contemplation.

_"They don't seem troubled at all"_ Mr. Peabody thought,_ "Then again, looks can be deceiving. Silent observation will not be enough to understand what is going on. Small talk will most definitely have to be made."_

Vinny gestured towards the living room and the kitchen, already it seemed he knew the place by heart; it was half true, for he had been watching the Griffins for some time to the point where he knew their patterns becoming dangerously close to a good-natured stalker, to use the word, in many respects.

"Is there anything we can get you?" Vinny asked, trying his best to be a good host.

Mr. Peabody shook his head, thankful but respectfully turning him down.

"No thank you" Peabody replied, "I just need to see Brian."

Vinny raised his ears, confused and slightly concerned.

"What's going on?" Vinny pried, "Why do you need to see him? Is it something important?"

Mr. Peabody rolled his eyes and nodded, for he did not want to air the details of the case in front of the children, lest they worry and have a relapse into their old behaviors.

"Its private business" Mr. Peabody answered, taking on an authoritative stance, "It has nothing to do with you pastor."

Vinny wondered for a moment how it was that Mr. Peabody knew he was a member of the clergy, for he gave no obvious signs. Mr. Peabody did not give an explanation nor was he going to, if anything it was an inference.

Walking into the living room and sitting his files on the coffee table, Mr. Peabody took a piece and looked around, making mental notes in his head of everyone except for Ernie, whom he found generally uninteresting.

Meg turned the TV channel to Tom Tucker, if only to see what the news was like. Chris, at seeing Tom, scowled and scoffed, personally disgusted by the anchorman's presences. Stewie, for his part, did the only thing he could do and cried, the memory of Tom's attack on Brian a few months before still fresh in his mind.

"You inconsiderate bastard!" Stewie cried, "I hope you rot in Hell!"

Ernie mumbled something inaudible under his breath, he appeared calm, his eyes glazed upon the living room as if he were looking at everyone all at once.

Meg changed the channel again, quieting Stewie for the moment and causing Mr. Peabody and Vinny to raise their eyes in attention. Ernie glanced towards the TV to see what it was, and upon finding that it was a commercial for Kentucky Fried Chicken, reverting his gaze and went back inside of himself. Mr. Peabody nodded and quietly began to make notes.

_"It is obvious that this is a daily ritual"_ Mr. Peabody noted, _"Yelling and screaming at the TV as it were a sentient thing is something of a release, while doing it together promotes social unity among them. Brian's part in this is unclear. I assume that he participates as well, perhaps to a lesser degree, but enough to where when he does participate it is considered a bonding experience."_

Meg stood up and walked upstairs, leaving the remote and control of the TV to Chris, who preceded to change the channel once more to the Golf Channel, if only to hear the commentators make sexist remarks about people in the crowd. Vinny, taking an interest, left his post and followed Meg up the stairs, his walk slow and steady, Bible in one hand, and now a recorder in the other.

Mr. Peabody did not follow, for he assumed that Vinny had his reasons for being upstairs and remained in the living room. He did notice that out of the corner of his eye that as Vinny walked upstairs he casually straightened himself out as if he were trying to look presentable. Still, Mr. Peabody did nothing and resigned himself to the boring and uninteresting world of golf. Ernie meanwhile, twiddled his thumbs and after a few minutes, rose and made his way to the kitchen.


	10. The Rescued

The Rescued

The first time that Meg entered the church since that fateful Wednesday it was almost exactly how it was before, the only difference being Meg's overall attitude. There were still five people in attendance and it looked more like a social gathering than a congregation, but Meg was significantly better, holding her head higher than usual, she was still quiet and reserved, not as open or friendly as she used to be; but she was at least attempting visibility.

Sitting towards the back of the sanctuary was Quagmire. He had his own reasons for coming, but for the most part it was the same as everyone else's, a sad and pathetic attempt to feel good about himself. He wanted to believe that he was going because besides Cleveland and occasionally Joe, he was the only one who actually gave a damn about anything on Spooner Street.

"Being faithful and good is not enough" Bernstein declared, "Reading the Bible and praying every day is not enough. Not anymore."

Bernstein paused for a moment and looked about his small congregation, his eyes resting on Meg, particularly her face, which was brighter and full of color. Looking into her, Bernstein could see why people were taken with her; a natural beauty that makeup would only destroy or hide. Beyond that, he also saw a little bit of Meg's heart, which for some reason, she decided to wear on her sleeve. Bernstein saw the troubled and sad girl, the tortured soul asking, begging for help. He saw her as a thing to be pitied and to feel sorry for. Bernstein, although a decent man and one of faith, often times felt little in terms of human emotion, another person reminiscent of Archdeacon Frollo a cold and calculating thinker, a man of great renown and poor judgement, who places the law in the literal sense, a caster of stones and an accuser; and yet was the pinnacle of devotion and righteousness.

"Stand up sinner" Bernstein declared, "Stand and be reborn, through faith may all your misdeeds be forgiven."

Quagmire turned towards the pastor, his eyebrows raised. Twisting his body in an awkward half turn, Quagmire faced Bernstein curiously, wondering what it was he was going to say, and at the same time already guessing it himself. In his mind he was insulted at words that were not even said. Meg held her breath, not out of fear or because she was underwater, but in preparation for what was to come. Bernstein continued as if nothing was happening, or, more accurately, as if he were the only person in the room. Looking around the mostly empty room once more, Bernstein lifted his hands towards the ceiling and with the voice of a great orator, or a circus ringmaster, he continued his piece.

"Lord I ask that you enter this poor and wretched soul. That you rid her of any and all doubt of your existence. That you, in all your glory, cast out the demons and show her the way. Let us all show her the way. Let us teach her the Way of the Lord."

Quagmire stood up, causing Bernstein to turn towards him. Before the pastor could say anything further, Quagmire stopped him with the raising of his hand. It was everything he had not to form it into a fist and give Bernstein what he deserved, but he did not, in order to maintain his image.

"I believe there's a book somewhere that says he who is without sin, cast the first stone." Quagmire exclaimed, "Is that right?"

Bernstein nodded, not entirely sure where Quagmire was going with the statement; his phrasing off and obviously antagonistic.

"What's your point?" Bernstein continued.

Quagmire huffed and shook his head, refusing to believe that Bernstein thought so highly of himself.

"Step down off that high horse of yours." Quagmire declared, "She does not need to be patronized. She is not simply something that can be pitied, she is a human being and is allowed to feel pain."

Bernstein rolled his eyes and scowled, quickly he turned towards the congregation and laughed, already continuing his sermon, rephrasing his own statements in order to make himself feel superior. Quagmire slowly motioned towards Meg, who nodded, catching the hint and walked out of the room, Meg following close behind.

A few blocks down in the Drunken Clam, Brian was busy busing tables, a dirty bar rag draped casually over his left arm and a spray bottle in his right hand. Two tables down he could see Jillian, his current girlfriend, and Bonnie Swanson, the former drinking water, the latter holding a half empty glass of wine. A jukebox in the corner of the room was on, the beginning notes of the Goo Goo Dolls' anthem _Iris._ Calmly making his way over, Brian thought about all the times he had looked at other women, all of the times he had fantasies. In his heart and in his head he knew that these thoughts and desires were natural, for he was a male, and being a male had certain tendencies; but Brian also knew that no matter what he would always go back to Jillian.

"What'll it be ladies?" Brian asked, hamming it up in an effort to get a laugh, "Wine? Beer? Scented candles and Marvin Gaye? Hot tub maybe?"

Jillian and Bonnie rolled their eyes and laughed playing along for Brian's sake.

"I'll take you up on that offer Brian" Jillian answered, "Just say when and where."

Brian smiled and casually looked at his watch. He had seven and a half hours left, most of them spent with loud and unruly drunks that cared little for him, calling him a waste of breath and an unnatural abomination that should be shot on sight. These remarks Brian paid little mind to, but just because he ignored them doesn't mean that he necessarily liked it. It should, then, go without saying that the early hours of his shift were Brian's favorite, because that is when Jillian and Bonnie, Ernie, Joe Swanson, Quagmire, and all of the people he considered friends, showed up.

Jerome whistled, Brian's cue to head to the counter. Sighing and shaking his head, secretly wishing that he was off if only to spend some much needed quality time with Jillian, and to a lesser extent Bonnie. Still, despite the money not being good, it was still money, which was something that given the circumstances Brian couldn't pass up.

Standing behind the counter and trying to put on his best smile possible, Brian silently began singing the chorus to _Iris_, if only because it gave him something to do. Reaching down on the lower shelf and grabbing a clean bar rag, the dog slowly continued his cleaning duties, moving from glass to glass, in order to have as much work as possible during the busy hours. His movements were meticulous and evenly paced, but behind the stained grey apron that he wore and underneath the green visor that was firmly on his head was an exhausted body and tired eyes. Brian wanted nothing more in that moment than to stop moving, if only to remind himself that the world was still turning.

The bell above the door signaling that it had been opened rung throughout the bar causing Brian and Jillian and Bonnie across the room, to look up and see Quagmire and Meg. Giving them a courtesy whistle, summoning them over at the same time, Brian immediately poured what he considered his specialty, root beer floats, knowing that Quagmire had recently stopped drinking, partly because of Peter, and partly because he wanted to keep his liver, what was left of it, in good order.

"What brings you guys down here?" Brian asked, setting the drinks on the table, "This a social call?"

Quagmire huffed and rolled his eyes, he was still too upset about Bernstein to much in the way of sociable. Meg, in order to show her support, grasped his hand and gave the warmest smile possible.

"Thanks" she said, embracing him at the same time, "You didn't have to do that."

Quagmire shook his head and quickly removed her hand off of his, taking a drink of his float.

"Of course I did" Quagmire retorted, "You think I would let that idiot talk to you that way? Are you out of your mind?"

Brian raised his eyebrows curiously, trying to understand the situation and failing.

"Did I miss something?" Brian asked, concern and confusion entering his voice, "What happened?"

Quagmire waved him off and rose from the counter, moving towards the booth, sitting in his usual spot. Looking up at the TV, Quagmire saw Tom Tucker giving an interview with Carter Pewterschmidt, he couldn't understand what it was they were talking about, but given the circumstances Quagmire guessed that it had something to do with the custody battle. It was times like these that Quagmire wished that Peter were here, always able to make jokes out of everything, now it seemed that all humor that made life tolerable was gone.

"I miss him" Quagmire exclaimed, mostly talking to himself, "Goddamn I miss him."

Meg nodded and casually drank her float, which already was beginning to turn flat, the root beer having expired almost a week before. She smiled as she thought about Peter and everything he did, how happy he seemed to be, how nothing brought him down even when things were at their worst. Meg remembered how much he tried to be everything all the time, and even when he couldn't, when it was inevitable, he still found a way to be the constant thing that never changed.

Bonnie and Jillian rose from their places, Bonnie taking a place next to Quagmire, where Cleveland normally was, and Jillian taking a bar stool next to Meg.

"So what's next?" Jillian asked.

"Not really sure" Brian answered, "If you're interested I'd be happy to take you with me."

Brian gave a subtle wink Meg's way, who caught on to the obvious segue into marriage. Jillian, in turn, could only laugh and shake her head hopelessly at the idea, not in the fact that the idea was ridiculous in itself, in fact she actually wanted it; it was rather, the awkwardness of the transition from Peter to themselves despite not much in the way of verbal conversation haven taken place.

"Don't you have a custody battle to take care of?" Jillian remarked, "Shouldn't you be focusing on that instead?"

Brian nodded and gave a quiet sigh. He could only hope that Mr. Peabody would get to Quahog as soon as possible with something he could use. He also hoped that Carter's promise of a jury was an empty threat, for it was unlikely that he would have anyone come forward to serve as character witnesses. Brian knew in his heart that Carter, who has stayed away from him thus far, couldn't keep waiting forever; he also knew that Carter, being a man of business and legal sense, had already assembled a case against him. Still, despite his doubt, Brian had faith, not in himself but in his friends, which is all he ever had to begin with.

The door opened yet again, this time it was Vinny, followed by Vincent Venitti. The minister casually looked around and made himself comfortable at the farthest bar stool. Venitti meanwhile, looked at his wristwatch, and then at the clock on the wall in the corner of the room, after which he nodded to himself and took a seat next to Vinny. Brian, who immediately walked over in order to score some hospitality points with Jerome and potentially get a raise, finished the glass he was working on and nonchalantly leaned on the counter, waiting to hear their orders. They said nothing.


End file.
